


Doom's Desire

by PalenDrome (nerdherderette)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gladiators, Aphrodisiacs, Background Relationships, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Alternate Universe, Collars, Digital Art, Dom/sub Undertones, Dubious Consent, Embedded Images, Emperor Armitage Hux, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, Gladiator!Kylo Ren, Holiday Fic Exchange, Hutts (Star Wars), Kylux Secret Santa 2020, M/M, Minor Character Death, Oral Sex, Power Dynamics, References to Drugs, Slave Kylo Ren, Slaves, That Later Turns Consensual, Treachery, mention of sexual slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:15:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28278237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdherderette/pseuds/PalenDrome
Summary: Hux never expected to find a jewel worthy of the Empire's crown in an Outer Rim desert wasteland."I didn't get hurt." Ren's voice is muffled against the bedding, yet it's deep and powerful and strikes a thrilling note inside Hux's belly. "The T'doshok lasted less than ten minutes." He turns his head, his voice softening. "You worry too much, Poe."Poe shakes his head. "And you don't worry enough. You can't win over the people by just being the best. Loyalties are fickle; people detest a person who wins too easily just as much as they do a loser.""I'm a slave, not a God. Do you think anyone in those stands sees past this collar?"Hux leans against the side of the building and peers into the window. He catches a glimpse of the thick gold band around Ren's neck, the polished metal gleaming against tanned skin, and Hux is hit by the sudden, intense desire to see what it would feel like to control that much power in the palm of his hand.
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Armitage Hux/Kylo Ren, Poe Dameron & Kylo Ren
Comments: 20
Kudos: 88
Collections: Kylux Secret Santa 2020





	Doom's Desire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Archangelsanonymous (ArchangelsAnonymous)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArchangelsAnonymous/gifts).



> Your wish list was a treasure trove of inspiration! You requested: NSFW, power play, top!Hux, bottom!Kylo, polyships, xeno, Kalluzeb, a hint of fluff, and canonverse. I always wanted to write a Gladiator!Kylo fic, and your signup was the impetus to finally do it. I tried to incorporate as much of your likes as I could (although it's canon-setting and not canon-compliant, and the Poe/Kylo/Hux moments are so soft and brief they weren't worth tagging) and this could have benefitted from an extra 2 months and 10k words. Still, I had lots of fun playing around with this 'verse, and I hope it brings you as much joy as I had in writing it for you. Happy Holidays!! <333
> 
> p.s. Khurrgu Jizz was the name that came up when using the Hutt-name generator. How could I not go with it?!
> 
> *Artwork by the always brilliant [pandacapuccino](https://pandacapuccino.tumblr.com/)

* * *

It takes one second after landing for Hux to realize he can't wait to escape this godforsaken planet.

He grimaces as a cloud of dust kicks another layer of filth onto his clothes. A Togruta slave scuttles close by, muttering her apologies as she brushes the sand off his robes. _Kriff,_ he hates the desert; he detests it even more when it’s located in the Outer Rim. But, as Emperor, Hux knows how important it is to assert his presence: dissatisfaction sows dissidence, after all, while complacency and ignorance spread its seed.

Hux resists the urge to finger the collar of his tunic, a sure sign of weakness to the Hutts. He's already at a disadvantage; the mid-morning sun has turned his pale skin pink, and the sweat that’s collecting above his brow has turned his coiffe limp.

“Greetings, Emperor,” the Hutt advisor says once Hux and his team reach the outpost. Khurrgu Jizz's unctuous tone is apparent even through the vocoder-translator, but Khurrgu must attribute Hux’s ill-concealed distaste to the unbearable heat since he continues blithely. “My apologies. We lack some of your amenities, and today is hotter than most.”

He waves his hand, and a pair of identical Twi’leks approach, one carrying a large, palm frond and the other a drink. They’re lithe, with four lekku instead of two, and with skin the color of the Arkanian rainforests. 

“Do you like them, Emperor?” Khurrgu asks when he catches Hux staring. The corners of his wide mouth lift in a smirk. “We provide our most-distinguished guests with entertainment catering to a wide variety of tastes. With the utmost discretion, of course.”

Hux takes in Khurrgu’s greedy eyes and pendulous jowls, and shakes his head.

“That won’t be necessary. If I require anything, however, you will be the first to know.” He takes the glass filled with a frothy pink liquid that's offered him and sniffs. It's unlike anything he's ever seen before, and he hands it back. "Water will be just fine."

“The talk of your intelligence is true,” Khurrgu murmurs. “As well as your suspicious nature.”

“I would think suspicion is in your nature, as well. After all, your territory is the hub of spice trade—legal and otherwise.”

Khurrgu nods. “A privilege my lord Thran'uu pays a handsome sum to the Empire’s coffers for.”

“If it is too much for Boonta Thran’uu, I have no issue with handing the responsibility over to another group who might be more equipped to manage it.”

Khurrgu demurs, sufficiently chastised. “We are humbled to have the privilege and your blessing, Emperor. In fact, we're hosting a fight today to celebrate your arrival. Boonta Thran’uu has decreed that his two top warriors compete in your honor."

Hux has attended similar competitions in the past. They’re extremely popular in the Outer Rim territories—and even in some of the more lawful ones—holdovers from times when crime lords and warring factions settled disputes with displays of power. Hux understands the primal appeal, but prefers his disagreements to be handled with a little more finesse.

Still, he realizes what the show of respect means from Thran’uu. 

He pastes a smile on his face and nods. “I look forward to it.”

**~*~**

Hux knows Khurrgu is surprised by his insistence on walking the footpaths around the arena.

“Surely you’d prefer the private entrance to your box?” Khurrgu asks. His eyes dart towards the throngs of people clamoring to enter. Many are dressed in fine silks and jewel-colored cottons and linens, but their bright appearance is tainted by the smell of alcohol and bloodlust.

Hux directs his attention to the Hutt leader who's come to meet them. “If lawless citizens are an issue, I'd be glad to lend my support. Of course, such protection, especially in these territories, comes at a price.”

Boonta Thran’uu shoots Khurrgu a vicious look. Hux wonders if it's the last time he'll see the Hutt advisor. “My dear Emperor, I believe that Khurrgu Jizz was only concerned for your comfort after such a long journey. Your offer, while generous, is unnecessary."

A loud roar echoes from the southern point of the arena. The sound of it is not quite feral, but achingly primal, and it stirs something deep within Hux’s belly. He watches as the crowd surges, the citizens shouting and pointing excitedly. 

“Something has captured their attention,” Hux murmurs, curious despite himself.

“They are watching the entrance to the Hypogeum, Emperor. The Hypogeum tunnels beneath the stadium,” Khurrgu explains. “It is the holding area for the gladiators of today's competition."

“It is also how the vanquished are removed from the pit.” Thran’uu smiles, and it's surprisingly ferocious for someone with few teeth. “That's no mere competitor they're waiting for. That, my dear Emperor, is anticipation for the main event: our fiercest warrior, undefeated in over seventy matches, Kylo Ren.”

The number of victories has Hux arching a brow. “A warrior like that must be difficult to control."

"The spice trade has its perks," Thran'uu says with a laugh. "We have a limitless supply of Gannarian narco. Almost all the fighters use it for its pain-modulating properties, but dosed appropriately, it can also induce a state of near submission. Our handlers time it to wear off within an hour of the match.”

Hux considers the information. “Narco is also quite addictive. It might be effective in the short run, but it does not bode well for the longevity of your fighters.”

Thran’uu shrugs. “There is never a shortage of criminals or the spoils of war.”

“For fighters who lose their competitive edge, or who become too attached to the narco-spice, we add glitterstim or sansanna to the mix,” Khurrgu adds. “It simulates whatever motivates them: anger, pain, hunger, or lust.”

Hux's eyes widen at the revelation. He's surprised the competitors can stand after ingesting such a combination, let alone fight. “With a regimen like that, it is a wonder you have any survivors.”

“And what life would they have without it?” Thran’uu asks. “They are the lowest of the low: smugglers, thieves, debtors, or enemies of the state. Most have committed crimes severe enough to warrant the death penalty. Here, at least they have the chance of living out the rest of their lives in a blaze of glory.”

“And do any of the gladiators end their lives outside a pool of blood on the arena floor?”

“Of course, Emperor! Well, a handful, anyway,” Khurrgu adds hurriedly after Hux gives him an incredulous look. “Some end up working the pits as handlers. Our most legendary fighters may also choose to live out the rest of their years on a piece of Hutt land, as a sign of appreciation from the state.”

“They are given a piece of desert soil,” Hux says drily.

Khurrgu has the decency to look embarrassed. “Well, those are _some_ of the options.”

“If neither of those are palatable, there's always a third,” Thran’uu says. He tries to hurry them along, impatience coloring his tone.

“And what is that?” Hux asks.

Even though it is mid-afternoon, the sun barely casts a shadow. Thran’uu waves over one of the Twi’leks, who quickly wipes the sweat off his leathery brow. 

“Doom Desire,” he rasps. He slithers the remaining distance to the tunnels, where darkness and coolness and mayhem await.

Hux shuts his mouth. Anyone who is familiar with Doom Desire knows the black market spice is reserved for those with a death wish. For those at the end of their rope.

**~*~**

Hux realizes the necessity of keeping a close eye on these territories after witnessing three bouts of grueling combat. The fighters are humanoids and xenomorphs, although the Hutts seem to enjoy the human versus human matchups the most. Hux, on the other hand, is tiring of the spectacle. Several of the fighters end up being thrown into a mass grave rather than back in their cells, but nearly all wear a look of desperation—or worse, resignation. As if the spice can’t even hide that fact that winning in this case may be a losing proposition.

Someone tugs on his sleeve. Hux prepares to berate them for their impertinence, but the genuine excitement on Khurrgu’s face gives him pause. It’s a strange thing to see the burst of animation on a studied and otherwise minimally expressive visage. He stares at the Hutt, fascinated.

“Emperor!” Khurrgu cries, directing Hux’s attention to the west entrance to the pit. “Ren’s here!”

Hux turns, and the fleeting interest in Khurrgu quickly fades. There’s a deafening roar that spreads like wildfire throughout the crowd, thundering screams of adulation and approval that vibrate the stadium’s seats. Somewhere amidst the din Hux hears the chants of _“Kylo,”_ but that fades into the background as his focus hones in on the figure that emerges from behind the iron gate.

Kylo Ren's face is covered; the helmet which masks his features is made of a burnished gold brighter than the desert sun, its metallic sheen further highlighted against his tan skin. Hux can make out ebony strands of hair as they escape from under the helmet’s base—glossy, lush, and wild, even from this distance. The shield that Ren wields is surprisingly ornate, as are the greaves that cover his legs and his crescent-shaped breastplate. But none are as captivating as Ren's unusual sword.

“I’ve never seen a blade like that.” Hux breathes, fascinated by the weapon's red color and the way it seems to waver in the heat. Ren stands still, the muscles in his body wound up like a spring. He almost looks like a statue, too still for something so momentous, if not for the way the sun glints angrily off the blade.

“It's made of beskar,” Thran’uu supplies, "with alloys of chanlon and hfredium. That's what gives it the unique color."

Hux stares at the weapon. He knows that the Mandalorians can create alloys in a whole range of hues, but even in his travels, this one is rare. It’s angry and powerful, a fitting match for the man who wields it.

And wield it, Ren does. No sooner does Thran’uu lift his hand to signal the beginning of the match is the outcome a foregone conclusion. Ren’s opponent is skilled—a Trandoshan easily twice Ren's size—but the reptilian humanoid's strength, clawed appendages, and hunter's instinct is no match for Ren's surprising speed and cunning. 

Thran'uu glares at Khurrgu, seemingly displeased by the ease with which Ren is dispatching of his opponent. "Who arranged the matchup?" he hisses.

"Zorba," Khurrgu says, his skin paling. "The Trandoshan was also previously undefeated."

Hux shakes his head. "It doesn't matter whether the challenger has won one match or a hundred." There’s something the Trandoshan lacks, unattainable through mere training or spice: the drive to make a statement, as if each win is a reinforcement of something meaningful. It emanates from every inch of Kylo’s body, from his bronzed muscles and cat-like movements to the conviction of his attacks and insuperable defenses.

After ten minutes, the bout ends with the Trandoshan's corpse lying bloodied and motionless on the ground by Kylo’s feet. Hux has risen to stand with the rest of the frenzied crowd, all thoughts of leaving this horrid planet vanished. Ren is as beautiful and graceful as he is dangerous and lethal. He is a man who deserves to be feted, who was destined to live amongst the highest echelons of society instead of the prison cells of a desert wasteland. 

And Hux must have him.

**~*~**

Thran'uu's palace is unlike that of any other Hutt Hux has known. It borders the Thukal River—the main source of water for the entire planet—on the east, and is protected by canyon walls to the west and north. There's one main road leading in from the south, a narrow and meandering obstacle course filled with thorny cacta bushes and krayt dragons. Thran'uu's own residence sits in the center of a large courtyard, flanked by the homes of high-ranking officers of his administration, while the furthest living quarters house things precious enough to be included in Thran'uu's orbit, but dispensable, if required—things like exotic and vicious beasts, his most-experienced handlers, and his most-prized slaves.

As Emperor, Hux is offered the biggest guest room right next to Thran'uu's own quarters. Hux has no doubts that privacy is as absent as acts of random kindness. He checks his body and personal belongings obsessively for holobugs, but it's no coincidence that he intends on spending his time more often out of his room than in it. And, to ensure his safety, Hux makes sure he has spies of his own.

The constant noise and press of Thrann'uu's court grows too much for Hux. He hasn't consumed much of the dinner of braised fork tarts, Orpali dragon, and zoochberry dumplings, even after the food tasters and cupbearers deemed the meal safe for consumption. Hux begs off from the post-dinner entertainment, despite Thran'uu's visible disappointment. He's always felt more comfortable as a leader and strategist, and the frippery that comes along with being Emperor chafes at the seams.

He waves off Mitaka's watchful eye after a while—he has no doubt Mitaka would willingly put his life on the line, although Hux has his blaster and dagger and can defend himself quite well. It's touching, especially since Hux can count on one hand the number of people in his life who show him loyalty without expecting some form of recompense, and it hits him suddenly, how truly lonely it is at the top.

The light changes. It's still bright, despite the late hour, although Hux knows that nightfall in the desert regions, although late, descends quickly. His walk has brought him to the outer reaches of the compound; the dwellings are one-storied, the color of the sand, their back windows affording a paltry view and even less privacy. He rounds the corner of the largest home, peering inside out of curiosity, and sucks in his breath at the sight that greets him. 

A man lays sprawled face-down out on a bed, his glorious hair spilling like black silk over his shoulders. Hux has no doubt this is the same warrior that captivated him this afternoon, and he sidles up to the dwelling to listen.

"You need to be more careful out there." A man, likely in his mid-thirties, is seated next to Ren. He's pouring oil from a jar into the palms of his hands. He runs his hand along Ren's broad back, and upon hearing the familiarity of the man's tone and his protective words, Hux lets out a huff of irritation.

"I didn't get hurt." Ren's voice is muffled against the bedding, yet it's deep and powerful and strikes a thrilling note inside Hux's belly. "The T'doshok lasted less than ten minutes." He turns his head, his voice softening. "You worry too much, Poe."

Poe shakes his head. "And you don't worry enough. You can't win over the people by just being the best. Loyalties are fickle; people detest a person who wins too easily just as much as they do a loser."

"I'm a slave, not a God. Do you think anyone in those stands sees past this collar?"

Hux leans against the side of the building and peers into the window. He catches a glimpse of the thick gold band around Ren's neck, the polished metal gleaming against tanned skin, and Hux is hit by the sudden, intense desire to see what it would feel like to control that much power in the palm of his hand. He shifts, as the front of his trousers suddenly grows too tight.

"Even the Gods are not immune to hubris," Poe replies. Ren muffles something incomprehensible and turns his head. "If you can't do it for your own safety, remember the cause." Poe resumes his ministrations, his oiled hands smoothing long paths down Ren's muscular back. 

Hux's ears perk up at the strange comment.

Ren lets out a long, obscene groan as Poe's hands sink into his skin. "You're not playing fair. Let me enjoy this in peace." He huffs out a breath as Poe works his way down; Poe's fingers glide over the muscular globes of Ren's ass, kneading the thick, corded muscles of his thighs, pushing and prodding the tender flesh. When Poe urges Ren to turn over, Hux's eyes widen at the tenting of the loincloth, the length and girth of Ren's prick unmistakable.

_Kriff._ Hux presses a palm against his own groin and takes a long, shuddering breath.

"Do you want me to finish you off?" Poe asks, looking pointedly at Ren's erection. "Or I could get the Twi'lek twins to—"

Ren arches his back, his hips tilting up from the movement, and Hux's mouth goes dry at the sight. "My own hand is perfectly serviceable." He stills, wariness settling over his features. "Someone's outside."

Hux backs away from the wall as if it were on fire, his cheeks flaming as he brushes off his robes. As Emperor, he has every right to know what's going on in his territories, and it sounds like Ren and Poe are discussing something that potentially affects the stability of the region, thus falling within his purview, and— 

"I trust I'm not interrupting anything?" A new voice enters the conversation, and when Hux inches back towards the window and peers inside, he sees a frail old man at the door, dressed in robes made of Contonican gold silk. 

Poe jumps up from his seat, his lips thinning with displeasure. "Snoke," he spits. " Have you come to do your master's bidding?"

"Thran'uu is _your_ master, too. And you would do well not to forget it." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a vial; Hux can see the silvery liquid that swirls inside. "Time for your dose, Kylo." Snoke sneers, and the smile pulls at the brittle edges of his face.

Ren sits, his face as expressionless as if he were masked. "Put it on the nightstand. I'll take it after supper."

Snoke shakes his head and makes as _tsk'ing_ sound. "You'll take it now." He thrusts the vial out more forcefully and Poe snatches it, sniffing at the opening."

"What is this?" Poe asks, frowning. 

Snoke's smile is both cruel and proud. "It's one of my newest concoctions. Gannarian narco mixed with Neutron Pixie."

Hux takes a deep breath. The ecstasy brought on by the Pixie would make the concoction highly addictive, useful in controlling someone who was resistant to Thran'uu's orders or who developed a tolerance to narco alone.

"He needs to be able to fight!" Poe shouts. "Do you want your master's prized fighter sedated to the point of being useless?"

Snoke's beady eyes glitter. "Of course not. After all, it doesn't seem to be affecting him so far."

Ren stands and walks towards the squabbling pair and grabs the vial from Poe's trembling fist. Poe's eyes flash with concern, and Hux can't imagine anyone less suited for plotting something covert, because the man's Sabacc-face is nonexistent. The mysterious vial is small as it sits in the palm of Ren's massive paw, and Hux catches the brief hesitation in Ren's face before Ren uncorks the bottle and brings it to his lips, tipping the contents into his mouth.

Snoke watches, impassively. When Ren finishes, the gladiator holds the bottle upside-down.

Snoke nods at the proof of consumption. "Pleasant dreams," he says, taking the vial back and placing it in his robe pocket. He exits Ren's home, the fabric of the garment swirling behind him.

Ren races to the side of the room as Poe lifts the corner of the worn rug that acts as the sole decoration in the place and pries up a floorboard. Hux inches over to the other side of the window to get a better look, his hand flying to his mouth at the sight of the cache of vials and a small box, the latter which Poe removes. 

"Here," Poe says as he hands Ren one of the tubes containing a clear liquid. Ren takes it with shaking hands, downs the contents, then promptly leans over a bucket and retches.

"They're not stupid, Kylo," Poe murmurs, almost too low for Hux to hear. Ren shudders as Poe draws small, soothing circles along his back. "You're good at putting up a front with Snoke. Do it in the ring as well."

Ren gags and heaves again. When he lifts his head, there's sweat beading along his forehead, and his eyes are dark and glassy. He twists away from Poe and sits against the wall, tilting his head back for support. 

"You were right, okay? Hubris." Ren closes his eyes and chuckles darkly.

Poe shakes his head. "You probably got most of the narco out of your system, but Neutron Pixie works fast. There's a chance that… " Poe bites his lip and gives a helpless shrug. He stands and brings a jug of water over; Ren appears to resist, then gives in when Poe practically forces it to his mouth. "This will help. Do you want me to get anything else? Maybe the Twi'lek twins?" he adds with a humorless laugh.

Ren shakes his head. "Leave me."

"I don't think—"

"Leave me," Ren repeats. The words come out as a growl, but there's also something oddly vulnerable and pleading in the tone. "I don't want you to see me like this."

Poe presses his forehead to Ren's. "You know where I am if you need me." He squeezes Ren's hand then stands, taking the bucket of vomit with him and emptying it outside. When he returns, he begins setting the inside of Ren's home to rights, replacing the contents of the wooden box under the floor and covering up the evidence with the rug. 

Hux steps away, the pieces of the puzzle slotting into place. He dusts himself off and makes his way back to Thran'uu's palace.

"Mitaka," he calls out over his comm after he's exited the slave quarters. "I want you to do another sweep of my room. Have Thanisson cover my windows with the Glistaweb curtains… No, I don't care what Thran'uu says; if he raises a fuss, let him know I demand it for sleep. And make sure no one is allowed in my quarters after you've finished."

He pockets his comm and grins, anticipation building in his stomach.

**~*~**

Hux returns to Thran'uu's side. The night's entertainment is in full swing, and he watches the performers with a bored expression that's not feigned. The dancers and courtesans being paraded in front of him are objectively beautiful, their assets highlighted in the finest clothes peggats can buy, designed to appeal to a variety of tastes. The other officials and distinguished guests aren't even bothering to conceal their desire, their lust and greed amplified by the wine and the sweet smell of Purple Lotus wafting from the incense burners nearby. 

One bears a superficial likeness to Kylo Ren, with his dark, lush locks and pouty wet mouth. Hux entertains the idea of taking the contortionist to his chambers for a brief second—to indulge in a quick dalliance to scratch an itch, to get this planet and its inhabitants out of his system—but he quickly shoots it down. The man's jaw is too square, his nose not aquiline enough. He hardly has Ren's height, and none of the gladiator's passion or power.

"Are none of them to your liking?" Khurrgu wrings his hands and casts a worried glance at Thran'uu. He leans towards Hux, as close as protocol allows. "As Emperor, you have first choice. But the other guests… well, they may not have Your Majesty's patience."

Hux draws a slow circle on the tabletop. "You are suggesting that I settle for someone less than pleasing so others may enjoy their evenings."

There's an audible snap as the stem of Thran'uu's goblet breaks in half. "Nonsense," he says. "You are my guest of honor. Your Highness' needs supersede the rest, who are mere blights on your brightness." He casts a baleful glare at Khurrgu, who flinches. "If the entertainment is lacking, how may we rectify that?"

Hux pretends to consider the question. "I took a walk around the grounds earlier this evening. The champion from this afternoon's fight, Kylo Ren, was with someone who appeared to be his handler." Hux doesn't think he's giving up any of Kylo's secrets; after all, Snoke didn't seem to be surprised by the company Kylo kept. "I was wondering if all the gladiators enjoyed such familiarity with their handlers as those two."

Thran'uu laughs, his jowls and belly shaking. "Dameron? If you're wondering whether the two have more than a professional relationship, the answer is 'yes.' They were childhood friends. But anything more is mere gossip. Dameron worked the spice route for us ten—maybe fifteen—years ago. He was involved with one of our best runners. I believe, even now, that Dameron still has a soft spot for Zorii Wynn." 

"So why isn't Dameron a runner still?"

"Because he also has a soft spot for his friend. Or perhaps loyalty is a family trait; his parents were commanders in the army of Kylo Ren's mother, the Princess of Chandrila."

Hux sucks in his breath. He had no idea of Ren's royal birth. It certainly added to Ren's intrigue. "How in the world did he come into your possession?" he wonders out loud.

Thran'uu smirks. Perhaps the drink has loosened his lips, or the story is too great to resist bragging about. 

"After the success of the Liberation Day Attacks on Chandrila, my potions master studied mind control. Instead of brain chips, however, Snoke had access to spice."

"Mind control?" The disgust on Mitaka's face was clearly evident.

Thran'uu waves a careless hand. "Is that any different from the indoctrination techniques or cloning program of the Imperials? Or Jedi mind tricks? Besides, we were only interested in the boy." He chuckled, seemingly pleased at the memories. "Snoke developed a potion that was easy to slip into food—potent, and nearly tasteless. It wasn't difficult to gain access to Kylo's caretaker and his guards; his nanny brought the teenage boy right to us, along with his well-intentioned, but clearly outmatched, best friend."

"What was it about the young prince that was so appealing?" Hux can't imagine a scenario where the royal's path would intersect with Thran'uu's.

"Revenge." Thran'uu's beady eyes grow hard and gloating. "The Princess Organa was a thorn in our sides; she was intent on shutting down our most lucrative routes, thus crippling our livelihood. We could care less about the politics and disputes between the Imperial forces and the Republic; they could have decimated one another, for all I cared. The abduction of Kylo Ren was personal."

The Chagrian male to the left of Thran'uu makes a delighted sound. "As good of a fighter as Ren is, you should have turned him into a sex slave instead. It would be a humiliating end to the Organa line, and I'm sure many would pay a high price for his favors."

Thran'uu's smile droops at the corners. "I considered it, at first. However, Ren was difficult to train. His first handler was injured severely when he tried to put a cage around the prince's cock." He gives a slight nod to one of the Klatooinians standing silently in the back, who moves to the Chagrian's side. "We brought the prince to the fighting pits after that. A wise decision, as he has brought us fame and riches beyond our wildest imagination. It is an irony, that he should be the jewel in my crown."

"Lord Thran'uu?" The Changrian squeaks as the Klatooinian presses the end of a blaster against his head.

"Unfortunately, your reminder of Kylo's difficult nature has put a damper on my enjoyment of this evening. Nor do I take kindly on people who second-guess my decisions. As your host, I find it extremely impolite." He inclines his head; the blaster fires, and the Chagrian makes a gurgling sound as he slumps over, the blue-tinge of his skin rapidly darkening as his head collapses into his stew.

The quickness with which the servers clear the remains of the unfortunate party-goer and his dinner almost has Hux blinking. His hand slides back down to his dagger, and he reminds himself not to be too soft around Thran'uu.

"You are right," Hux says quietly to Thran'uu whose smile grows wider. "Kylo Ren is indeed a precious jewel worthy of anyone's crown. In fact, I would consider it an honor and a great show of your generosity if I could spend time in his company."

Thran'uu's eyes bulge, the jowls of his neck rolling as he swallows. "Kylo Ren is stubborn, moody, and not fit for socializing with the likes of Your Highness," he says. "His life has been filled with bloodshed and violence. Surely I have others in my stable who can serve your purposes much better."

"Are you second-guessing my decision?" Hux asks, parroting Thran'uu's words with an arch of his brow.

The Hutt leader gulps and his lips spasm in a rictus of ill-concealed displeasure. "I… No, of course not, Your Highness. But we encourage our prize fighters to refrain from the pleasures of the flesh. It channels their most primal urges where it serves them best: to ensure their bloodlust and their drive to dominate on the battlefield."

"From what I understand, you also have spices at your disposal to achieve that very state," Hux says. "Besides, all I requested was the pleasure of Ren's company. I find his story fascinating, and would like to hear more."

"You just want to talk? He's not much of a conversationalist," Thran'uu says, looking equally relieved and suspicious.

A slow smile spreads across Hux's face. "For starters. Of course, I am neither a fortune-teller nor a haruspex, so I don't know what the future may bring."

Thran'uu glances at the impressive array of Imperial officers flanking Hux, who move in closer. 

"It would be my honor to accommodate your wishes, Your Highness." He smiles at Hux, the words laced with bitter surrender.

**~*~**

When Mitaka brings Ren to Hux's quarters, the gladiator, despite Poe's intervention, looks a bit worse for wear. His body lurches, lacking the panther-like grace that he exhibited back in the ring, and his hair is plastered against his face. When he looks up at Hux, he squints, as if unable to see Hux clearly through his dilated pupils.

"You're not… " Ren shakes his head. "Who are you?"

Hux gets up from his seat. He slides off his gloves and places them on the nightstand. "Armitage Hux," he says, fingering the gorraslug leather.

Ren turns his head and spits. "That means nothing. Who are you to _me?_ "

Mitaka yanks on the chains that bind Ren's hands behind his back. "Watch your mouth. He is your _Emperor._ You should be on your hands and knees after such an insult."

Ren barks out a laugh. "Is this how you command, _Emperor?_ With chains and the threats of underlings?" 

The defiance that shines in Ren's eyes thrills Hux. He's pleased to see that Ren hasn't been broken irreparably from the years of spice and Snoke and Thran'uu's hands. "As the sovereign authority of the galaxy, it is my duty to meet with my subjects. I was impressed with your performance in the Colosseum today, and I requested to speak with you. Nothing more." Hux inclines his head towards Mitaka. "Release him, then leave us."

"Your Highness—" Mitaka swallows, his face torn between obeying Hux's command and his obvious concern. He unlocks the clasp holding Ren's hands; the chains slide to the floor in a clinking, clanking mess. 

Ren uses the opportunity to stand to his full height. He towers over Hux, and even though he's clearly still under the influence of the narco and Pixie, Hux second-guesses himself for a moment in the face of all that anger and power.

"I'll be fine, Mitaka," Hux says instead. He keeps his gaze level with Ren's, his expression impassive as Mitaka retreats and the door to the chambers click shut.

"I'm not sure if you're arrogantly brave or foolish," Ren says once they are alone.

"I am hardly foolish. And is arrogance so bad if it is based in truth?"

"If arrogance were merely a matter of self-awareness, there would be the existence of the description. The subtleties, _Your Majesty,_ make all the difference in the world."

The sneer and condescension which accompanies the honorific sets Hux's teeth on edge. He walks over and cups Ren's chin, holding onto it firmly.

"Interesting," he says, tilting Ren's head this way and that, as if the prize fighter were no more than a Loth-cat. "You're still under the influence, but based on the size of the vial, it's a miracle that you're still standing, even after you vomited up the contents. I can understand if you've built a tolerance, especially given the arsenal of antidotes and other spices you have stockpiled under your floor—"

Hux's breath is knocked out of his chest as Ren hauls him off his feet and slams him against the wall. "I'm going to kill you," Ren growls. His hand closes around Hux's throat and a prickle of fear runs through Hux as Ren squeezes—not with enough force to cause Hux's limbs to go numb or his vision to go spotty, but with enough of a threat to know that it's possible.

"I don't doubt you could," Hux wheezes. He refrains from reaching for his blaster; he can't beat Ren with sheer force, and he'd prefer not having to explain to Thran'uu why his precious slave never made it out of their meeting in one piece. "But that would seal your fate, as well. I have guards stationed outside the door and around the building. My death—well, it appears our lives are now inextricably linked."

"Except you have something to lose." Ren's words come out as defiant and unbroken, although his face twists into something mournful before settling back in an angry glower. He lowers his hand, and Hux takes several deep breaths as subtly as he can.

Hux is not familiar with wild animals—the non-humanoid types, that is—and if he were, he might have had second thoughts about approaching Ren. But he backs off the wall and takes a step into Ren's personal space, noticing the way Ren's eyes widen in surprise. He swipes the pad of his thumb slowly along Ren's cheek and notices the hitch in the gladiator's breath, and wonders if it's from nerves or something else. Ren's face is still flushed, which is not surprising, given Neutron Pixie's reputation for inducing states of ecstasy and vigor. 

"Hmm. You claim apathy, yet you fight so hard in the arena."

Ren looks petulant. "If I win, I win. If I die, I win."

"Really? What about the people you leave behind? The cause? Poe?" Hux's fingers dig into the soft flesh of Ren's cheek at the mention of Dameron.

Ren visibly tenses. Raw energy pulses from under his skin, and when his golden gaze locks onto Hux’s, Hux feels another jolt of lust and want burst through him. "What do you want?" Ren asks through gritted teeth.

Hux trails his hand down the slope of Ren's face. He traces the curve of Ren's lower lip and presses, watching as wet flesh reddens and swells. 

"Isn't it obvious?" Hux trails his eyes along the length of Ren's body, allowing his gaze to linger appreciatively. When he draws his eyes back up, Ren looks furious. "The difference is, I want you to get something from it, too."

"If you think your prick is a prize worth getting on my knees for, you're sadly mistaken."

Hux pushes his finger past Ren's mouth. "I heard what happened when Thran'uu's henchmen first took you. Believe me, I have no desire to see your beauty caged, although I'm looking forward to the day where you'll beg for my cock on your own volition." He removes his hand and walks away from Ren, who lets out an audible gasp. "So I'll rephrase: what can I do for you. Kylo Ren?"

Ren turns as Hux settles himself on his seat. He clenches his hands and takes a deep breath. "Freedom," Ren says. When Hux doesn't deny the wish outright, Ren continues. "And not just mine. For the other prisoners. At least, the ones who never deserved to be here."

Hux mulls it over. Ren is smart, and it's obvious he doesn't trust easily. Winning him over requires more than empty promises. Relieving Thran'uu of one of his most valuable possessions would be an insult to the crime lord's reputation as well as his coffers, and although Hux is sure Thran'uu would acquiesce if Hux demanded it, the surrender would certainly bring the future repercussions. Still, Hux didn't ascend to his position as Emperor without his ability to strategize, along with a dash of ruthlessness when required. It's a difficult request, but by no means impossible.

Hux spreads his legs, the invitation unmistakable. "Convince me."

Determination settles over Ren's face. His eyes grow dark as he stalks over to Hux, pawing at Hux's trousers, his entire body a rigid line of defiance.

Hux makes a tut-ing sound. "Careful." His hand wraps around the chain connected to Ren's collar and tugs gently in warning.

Ren grunts, but his movements grow more careful and measured. When he pulls the waistband of Hux's trousers down to Hux's thighs, Hux's cock rouses from its half-hard state. Ren stares, as if warring with himself, even as his eyes grow dark. He wets his lips and leans into Hux's lap, the strands of his hair tickling Hux's thighs as he takes Hux into the heat of his mouth.

Ren's tongue rasps teasingly along the underside of Hux's prick, and Hux nearly yanks on the lead as pleasurable sensations shoot, white hot, from his cock to his groin. 

_"Kriff,"_ he grits out as Ren smirks. Ren works his way down the length of Hux's cock, his lips glistening, and there's no question he's done this before, given the way he hollows out his cheeks, the practiced slide of his tongue along the shaft, and the perfect suction of his mouth. He reaches out, his thick, calloused fingers tracing the curve of Hux's balls, and Hux sucks in a breath, suddenly feeling like prey.

Hux threads his fingers through Ren's hair, grasping the fine strands and pulling. 

"Off," he commands as Ren peers up from under the curtain of his thick, long lashes. Hux stands, the world righting itself now that he's towering over Ren. Ren scoots back on his knees, his neck tilted in line with the jut of Hux's cock, as if he's eager for it. Hux files the information away for later; he's not sure how much of Ren's participation due to the spice, or the prospect of gaining his freedom, but Ren's excitement is noticeable from the stiff angle of his loincloth. 

"Eager, aren't you?" Hux breathes as he grabs the base of his cock and slowly feeds it into Ren's waiting mouth. 

Ren's eyes flutter, his breath huffing softly through his nose as he accepts Hux. His lips wrap around the Hux's cockhead, his tongue swirling with a skill that should be only pleasing, but Hux finds himself tamping down his jealousy at the thought that someone else has enjoyed the sight and feel of Ren's talented mouth and tongue. Hux brings his hips back then slowly pushes forward, delighting as Ren lets out a low moan. A bead of sweat drips along the ridges of Ren's flanks; the muscles in his back flex, the curve of his thighs and buttocks barely contained within the meager slip of his loincloth. 

There's no scrape of the teeth or other retribution, so Hux gives into the lust coursing through his veins. He thrusts faster and pushes harder, his eyes rolling as he feels his cock hit the back of Ren's throat. The delicious squeeze of muscles around his cockhead is nothing compared to the sight of Ren, however, who's now pushed aside the flap of his loincloth and taken himself in hand. Even from where Hux is standing he can see just how large Ren is— how Ren's massive fingers _just_ circle the girth of his cock, the obscene length of it bursting forth from beyond the curl of his hand, unable to be contained. Ren's forearm muscles are tense as he strokes himself, and the noises he makes grow desperate and sloppy. Hux feels his release building at the base of his spine. The heat of his impending orgasm spreads through his groin and he slams his hips forward, reveling in the choking sound Ren makes as his nose abuts the hairs surrounding Hux's cock.

Hux grinds his pelvis against Ren's face in response. He feels, rather than sees, Ren rutting into his fist, their movements growing erratic as Hux spills his release down the long line of Ren's throat.

The last spurt of his release has barely been wrung out before he hauls Ren up. He attacks Ren's mouth, his tongue sliding in to taste the bitterness of his own come with a possessiveness that surprises him. Hux reaches down and wraps his fingers around the head of Ren's prick. Ren's entire body goes taut as Hux strokes and twists, and a deep, keening sound erupts from Ren's chest as he comes, thick ropes of jizz spilling over Hux's hand.

_Mine,_ Hux growls. He feels Ren's body go slack, the additional weight nearly dropping Hux to his knees. Somehow, Hux manages to hold on tight, manages to keep them both upright and not let go.

**~*~**

Hux typically wakes when the light from the first sun crosses the horizon, but he's rudely awakened while it's still dark. He bolts to sitting, reaching for the blaster wedged under the mattress out of habit, his heart only slowing after he spies Ren sitting at the edge of the bed and looking a bit lost.

"Unless you're contemplating doing me harm or you need to take a piss, there's no reason for you to be up at this hour," Hux says crossly. They had fallen asleep before the come had even dried on their skin; the heat and travel of Hux's day, along with Ren's ingestion of narco, had derailed any consideration of a repeat performance.

Ren scrubs his face. "I'm usually out in the training yard by now." Gone is the sheen of sweat from last night. His eyes are clearer, glittering in the dark.

Hux shrugs. "I'll send my lieutenant over to your handler with my apologies." He looks at Ren curiously. "Does it get easier? The killing?"

Ren shoots out of bed with an anger that surprises Hux. "What do you want from me?" he asks, his hands fisted at his sides. "Am I something to amuse you? You—" He touches his throat, his cheeks flushing. "You told me you would help me. But I'm still a slave, no different from the person who I was yesterday, except for the soreness in my throat."

Something in Ren's posture, in the way his words crack at the ends, tugs at Hux. Hux had lost his mother at a young age; his father was a philanderer who treated his only son with a crueler hand than he did his dalliances, and Hux shed no tears upon his father's death. But Ren lost his parents, too—and what's worse, was likely ill-equipped to cope with their unexpected loss, if Thran'uu's information on Ren's royal lineage was true.

"You said you wanted your freedom." Hux watches Ren, whose face remains impassive as Hux stands and walks over to him. "What would you do with it, if I gave that to you?"

"Would I truly be free? Or would I just be trading one master for another?"

Hux lets out a huff. "I'm not going to debate the philosophical aspects of life debts. I told you: we would come to an agreement that was mutually beneficial."

"There's nothing you've done so far that's benefitted me."

Hux rolls his eyes. He's fairly sure that Ren would have had some cursory lessons as a prince in politics and deal-making, but he's acting as if he's still a spoiled adolescent. "What would you like to do?" he rephrases, "after you gained your freedom?"

Ren's mouth works, but nothing comes out. "I don't know," he finally confesses. "My life before… well, that's no longer an option. Since I was fourteen, I've known nothing else but fighting."

Hux shakes his head. His schedule is packed, and the last thing he needs is to be saddled with someone undergoing a crisis of identity and purpose. He can certainly pay Thran'uu enough to gain Ren's freedom— perhaps set Ren up with some land in a mid-Rim planet to grow old on. What he wants is to satiate his most primal needs; he has five more days before he needs to move on to Llanic, and he's sure Ren's appeal will have long-faded by then.

"Your freedom is a given. Think about what else you want after I've fucked you." He tugs Ren onto the bed, smiling as Ren automatically positions himself on his hands and knees. He kneads the flesh of Ren's buttocks, watches crescents of red bloom under his fingers, then does it again before the visible memory of his hands disappears completely.

**~*~**

After three more days, Hux still can't get Ren out of his system.

"Do you think about your life before—?" he blurts out one morning as he's tracing circles along Ren's skin.

Ren rolls over onto his back, his massive form nearly taking up the entire bed. In the morning light, Hux can see the scars that criss-cross over Ren's flank and the puckered wound on the left side of his chest. It was a battle wound, Ren had said, suffered early in his career when he was young, angry, and filled with too much arrogance. 

"Before?" Ren asks.

"You know." Hux reaches over and tweaks Ren's niple, delighting as Ren hisses and the flesh pebbles."Before Thran'uu kidnapped you."

Ren looks surprised by the line of questioning. They hadn't spoken about Ren's past until now. 

"I try not to. In the beginning, I thought about going back home constantly. But once I learned that my family… " He stops, the waver in his voice betraying his emotions. "Now, when I think back on my childhood, it's only so Thran'uu can't take everything away from me. At least I have my memories."

Hux props himself on his elbow. "Will you share one with me?"

Ren closes his eyes. He lies there, silent for so long that Hux thinks he's refusing to answer.

"The royal grounds had a garden that was filled with exotic plants and butterflies from around the galaxy. My favorites were the blue-winged species from Endor; they were rumored to be messengers, and I always thought they were harbingers of good things to come. I was obsessed with trying to catch them as a child." He opens his eyes, and from this angle, they look almost a pale green. "Poe indulged my fancy; he bought me a net to catch them but I refused, insisting that I do so with my bare hands. Maybe I was a bit brazen, thinking I was on equal footing with them, wanting to capture something mystical. I finally succeeded, but in the process, I had torn one of the butterfly's wings. I later learned that the butterflies were messengers of news of any importance—good, or bad. I was certain that in my carelessness and refusal to listen, my actions were responsible for my capture." His hand drifts to the outline of his collar, the line of his mouth drawn tight.

Apparently Thran'uu's claim of Ren's birthright was true. 

Hux traces the curve of Ren's cheek. "I was beaten by my father as a child. And though I believe we have control over our destinies, I know my treatment under his hand was not my fault. Thran'uu is vengeful and greedy, and has access to people and things beyond your control."

"Be that as it may… it doesn't change where I am now." 

"I heard you speaking with Poe the night I arrived—don't give me that look, the two of you are loud and hardly subtle—so I know you haven't accepted your lot completely."

Ren rolls to sitting. The sheet pools across his lap, and Hux mourns his ability to view Ren in all his glory. 

"You knew we were planning something. Yet you didn't say anything to Thran'uu." Ren hesitates, then stares at Hux for so long that Hux starts to squirm. "You didn't use it against me when you first brought me to your room."

"I use force when necessary. But true loyalty is rare, and even more so when gained through coercion. I prefer something mutually beneficial when establishing relationships that are long-lasting."

"Is that what this is?"

Hux drops his hand to his side. "Beauty and talent like yours is wasted in the Outer Rim. You were born to be on a throne; people should bow down in deference to you."

"It's not just me. There are others—"

"You had a plan. Tell me what you need." 

Ren's defenses seem to slip as his eyes fill with hope. The sunlight catches the collar that sits on his neck, limning his skin in a white-gold. It highlights his regal and unique beauty, and Hux thinks, not for the first time, that it would be breathtaking if its origins weren't so terrible.

**~*~**

"Your Highness." Thran'uu's eyes widen in surprise as he moves from his seat in the middle of the treaty room. "I wasn't expecting you for at least another hour."

"Unfortunately, I must be in Llanic this evening." Hux nods to Mitaka, who steps away to position himself by the door.

Thran'uu's expression grows greedy. Hux knows Thran'uu is at a disadvantage when it comes to moving his cargo, being situated at the intersection of both the Llanic Spice and Triellus Trade routes, in need for clearance from both and welcomed by neither. The Empire's sanctioning of Huttian fleets was one of the bargaining points for Hux's visit. "I take it that your needs were met during your stay and that everything was to your liking?"

Hux inclines his head. "I was very pleased. It found it quite enlightening."

"Ahhh." Thran'uu's smile grows wide. "Good, good." He barks out orders to the two Devoranians behind him in Huttese. Despite their fame for speed, the Devoranians move slowly and Thran'uu pauses, shaking his head. They bring out a chair for Thran'uu as well as one for Hux, along with some parchment paper, a pot of star-squid ink, and a Canakal-bird quill. "Please have a seat," Thran'uu says to Hux. "I'm sure you're eager to be on your way, given your busy schedule."

"I am. But I'm afraid you misunderstand. I've already drawn up the new treaty. I was just saying my good-byes."

"You… but I wasn't given anything to sign." Thran'uu looks around at Khurrgu and the guards in confusion. 

A look of determination settles over Khurrgu's face. "I have it here." He removes a scroll from his satchel, one embossed with the Emperor's seal. When he places it on the table, Thran'uu unrolls it greedily and begins reading.

"I don't understand," Thran'uu says, his skin turning from a yellow-green to puce. 'Khurrgu has been given a seat in the Trade Federation? As leader, the position should be mine."

A smile spreads slowly over Hux's face. "My dear Thran'uu. You are quite correct. The seat should go to the current leader: Khurrgu Jizz, by Imperial decree." He turns to the two Devoranians and points to Thran'uu. "Restrain him."

Thran'uu tries to back away but he's unceremoniously thrown back into his seat. "What have I done to anger your Highness? I've done everything you've asked!"

"You hurt something precious to me," Hux replies. When Thran'uu signals the Devoranians to fight, Hux lets out a harsh laugh. "Your guards are under the influence of Gunjack and Lumi. I suggest you don't struggle too much; the Gunjack spice makes their strength unpredictable." The doors to the chamber open and Hux turns, as the sound of boots click against the stone floor.

Although he is no longer encased in his gladiator's armor, Kylo looks just as impressive dressed in desert robes. Thran'uu lets out a gurgle of surprise when Kylo deposits the spoils of battle at his feet: a bisected torso, wrapped in gold Contonican silk. 

Hux removes a small brown pouch from his coat and places it in front of Thran'uu.

"Doom Desire," Hux says. "Enough for a lethal dose, if you choose. It is a painful, drawn-out death, I am told, although some might prefer it to the end of a sword."

Thran'uu's eyes dart between Hux and Ren. "Seriously?' he croaks. "For _him?"_ He turns toward Kylo. "You were my greatest revenge," Thran'uu chuckles as Kylo's expression grows dark. "A royal by birth, reduced to nothing more than a slave of the Hutts. And while Chandrila mourned the presumed death of the heir apparent, you, too, lived a lie. You see, your family was not murdered as you were led to believe. No, your family has suffered all these years, believing in your demise."

The rest of his words are lost as Kylo unsheathes his sword, swinging it overhead and plunging its deadly blade deep into Thran'uu's chest. The metal penetrates the Hutt's thick, leathery skin as slime seeps out of the gaping wound. Kylo twists the blade and angles it deeper, grunting from the effort as Thran'uu's mouth falls open and his eyes roll up, unseeing.

"I was never given a choice. He didn't deserve one, either," Kylo spits as he wrenches his sword free. He remains rooted to the spot, his expression young and vulnerable.

Hux walks over. "Are you okay?" he asks quietly.

"Through all my matches, I never found it easy to take another's life," Kylo whispers. "Until now."

Hux was never good at consoling, but he feels himself reaching out and putting his hand on Kylo's shoulder. The words don't come, and the position is awkward, but none of that matters when Kylo leans into his touch.

**~*~**

"Kylo!" Poe shouts when Hux and Kylo reach port. "Kriff, you don't do things by halves, do you?" He reaches out as if to embrace Kylo, but stops when he meets Hux's eye. Surprise smoothes over his features as he seems to remember himself, then bows. It's slight—and toes the edge of disrespect—but Hux lets it slide. 

For now. 

"Emperor. Thanks for your help."

Hux's lips quirk at Poe's begrudging tone. If the former spice-runner is going to be a continued presence in Kylo's life, he's going to enjoy putting both of them in their places. "I take it your cargo was mobilized safely?" Hux asks, glancing back at the two freighters being loaded with supplies.

Poe nods. He waves someone over, shouting to be heard above the noise. 

"This is Zeb Orrelios," he says, pointing to the tall Lasat male who joins them. Zeb's wearing a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes, and looks incredibly strong as he towers over everyone, including Kylo. "He flies the VCX-100 light freighter on your right. He'll be taking his passengers into Wild Space."

"Wild Space?" A man pushes himself to Zeb's side. "You're carrying nearly thirty ex-prisoners, most of whom have no family to speak of or the skills to survive in uncharted regions." He thrusts a list into Hux's hand; the lifeforms on it are already relegated to the margins of society, even if they hadn't been former slaves. Hux wonders whether it's intentional that Orrelios would choose such a group.

"Agent Kallus is right," Hux says. "I am not allowing resources to be wasted on a futile mission. You'll be lucky just to get through the gravity wells and magnetospheres of the Uncharted Regions with a carrier that size."

"Look," Poe begins. He rolls his eyes, and oh, yes, Hux will definitely enjoy bringing such cockiness under control. "There's a reason why Zeb's ship is named _Ghost._ He can fly through anything: heavily guarded routes, meteor fields, collapsed star clusters, you name it."

_Ghost._ "I've heard stories of such a ship," Hux says, raising his brow. "I believe it did significant damage to one of my transport shuttles last week. The loss of my stormtroopers was not inconsequential."

Poe looks at Zeb, who snorts. 

"Kriffin' bucketheads," Zeb says under his breath. He addresses Hux, his gaze unwavering. "Khurrgu is not contesting our leave, but a large group of ex-prisoners can't suddenly manifest in the Core or Rim territories. Relocation to Wild Space is our best bet."

Zeb has a point. As a new leader, the loss of so many prisoners would undermine Khurrgu's fragile reputation, but there's something about the Lasat that Hux doesn't trust. "Fine," he says, "but I want one of my men onboard. Agent Kallus will be accompanying you."

Kallus opens his mouth as if to object, but the wind picks up, swirling sand and dust around them. 

"I hate to break up this love-fest, but we need to leave," Poe says. "The spice we used on Thran'uu's guards will wear off soon, and the winds are building." 

Hux agrees. He messages Mitaka through the Comm to prepare his shuttle, only to hear his name being called in the distance. He shades his eyes and sees Khurrgu slithering across the sand. The Hutt's movements are regal and assured; power seems to agree with him, and Hux makes a note to install several operatives within Khurrgu's court. 

"Your Majesty," Khurrgu says once he reaches Hux, "you nearly left without this." He pulls out an ice-blue pouch and retrieves a key from inside its confines. The key looks plain at first, with its round bow and simple shank, the metal dulled and tarnished over the years. On closer look, however, Hux sees a series of complicated wards engraved at its tip, resembling the moon and stars.

Khurrgu places the key in Hux's palm, and Hux closes his fingers around it. It would be so easy to go back on his word, to add stipulations that would keep Kylo tied to him, in one way or another. 

Kylo's hand flies up to his neck, his whiskey-colored eyes swirling with emotion.

"Believe me, you look gorgeous in a collar," Hux murmurs. "But when you wear one, it will not only be one of mine, but one that you choose willingly.” He motions for Kylo to kneel and brushes Kylo's hair to the side, memorizing the way the silken threads fall against his hand as he grasps the collar's edge. The metal's warm from the heat of Kylo's skin and the sun, and feels surprisingly heavy. It dawns on Hux that Kylo has worn the symbol of servitude for years, with little more than anger, fear, and desperation to guide him from adolescence to manhood. He wonders, after so long, whether freedom itself could feel like a burden.

He pushes the key in and turns it. The lock clicks open—almost too easily for how long it's had Kylo under its thumb—and the collar slides off, landing in the sand with a muffled thump.

Kylo picks up the collar. The sand slides off of the surface like a waterfall, the grains of sand disappearing into the desert floor. He rubs the back of his neck, his fingers lingering against the visible circle of pale skin. "I can't believe… " He stares again at the collar in his grasp, then reaches back and heaves it into the distance. 

Hux watches as the collar arcs through the air and disappears. "What now?" he asks.

Kylo shakes his head. "I need to go back to Chandrila. I was led to believe my entire family had perished, and now I’ve learned that they're not only alive, but that they think I'm dead." He bites his lower lip, and the rise and fall of his chest quickens. "I don't know what will happen once I get there. I was a child back then, only to become a slave and a killer. There might not be a place for me in that world."

Hux looks around them. Poe is closing the door on one of the freighters, while Kallus' fair head is bent close to Zeb's as they look over the ledgers. It's not the private moment Hux would have liked to make such a personal confession, although he supposes everything about this trip has defied his expectations.

He lays his hand on Kylo's neck. Kylo's breathing steadies in response, and his panicked expression softens at the edges. When Hux leans in to whisper into Kylo's ear, Kylo lets out a delightful shudder. 

"You are a prince, a warrior, and a survivor. You belong on the throne, and I want it to be the one next to mine."

"Will you come with me? To Chandrila?" Kylo blurts out, his voice hoarse. His cheeks pink, as if he can't believe he made such a request. 

Kylo hasn't been in a position to request anything for himself in years. Even more, he's ill-suited to navigate the intricacies of deal-making and survive the backstabbing of the royal courts. What he needs is knowledge and guidance, and the occasional firm hand. The thought is heady, and Hux is already swayed by the thought. 

"One week," Hux says, calculating the ways he'll be able to conduct business while in Chandrila. But for now, Llanic and the trade agreements can wait. The prospect of having Kylo at his side is an intoxicating dream—more addictive than any spice, and just as sweet.

**~fin~**


End file.
